To See You Smile
by Luscious Kinney
Summary: ATTENTION-ATTENTION: There has been a small change to Chapter two. I apologize to the two people who needed to right me concerning Sonar's hair color. Finale Up! Enjoy or I want a rematch!!! (LOL)
1. You Can't Hit What You Can't See

To See You Smile…  
  
A Fic From Father Mulcahy's Point of View  
  
(Set in the year 2001)  
  
My arms were aching, yet still the rosaries came one after the other. Men from the front were dying left and right and I was doing all I could to give all of them their last rites of passage.  
  
"What would we do without you?" Kellye sighed as I prayed over a hysterical soldier. He calmed right at Amen, one of the many plusses of putting all your trust into the Lord's care. Sometimes I felt like all I was achieving was taking up space, it was usually Major Burns that darkened my spirits, but I always got over it as another wounded soldier asked for a few comforting words…  
  
Dear Loving Sister,  
  
It's quiet again on the front, and the Lord has been kind in giving us sunshine. I wish I could be there at the monastery, but duty still calls. It's nice to know that you are depended upon for guidance but not at all responsible for how people use it.  
  
I received the most interesting confession about a week past. It was from a young man, Sergeant Nelson, as it were. As the collar binds, so shall I, however, what troubles me is that I could not console him no matter what I said.  
  
I suppose it was that he was a little homesick and extremely weary, but that couldn't have been all of it. I have been praying for some sort of direction, some small piece of advice that I could convey. If you have any guidance for me, I will gladly accept it.  
  
Before the Grace of God,  
  
Father Francis John Patrick Mulcahy…  
  
"Hiya Father." Radar said. He joined me in the mess tent. I was fasting, however, I found it easier to do so when I was in the midst of all the 'Unique' fragrances that wafted through. He sat down beside me and silently consumed.  
  
"How is everything going, my son?" I asked.  
  
"Same old same old." He garbled through a mouthful of food.  
  
"And how are you?" I asked as Sergeant Nelson sat beside Radar, simply picking at his food. "Not improved, I see." I pondered through watching Radar eat as though he had been famished prior to the mess call.  
  
"Won't it make you sick, eating all that?" Sergeant Nelson asked curiously.  
  
"Naw. I'll just burn it off like I usually do, running my ass off for all of you people."  
  
"You people?" I asked, making sure there was an edge to my voice.  
  
"Uh…" He stammered, embarrassed. "For all the officers and enlisted."  
  
"Yes, well, may I suggest something?"  
  
"Mhmmmm." He replied. I couldn't tell whether that was a no or a yes, so I just decided to leave subtlety at the door and try a more blunt approach with him.  
  
"I don't think gluttony is going to make you feel any better or help you do your work any more efficiently, Corporal." I should have known that my help would be taken for criticism. It usually is, even though my role as a priest screams "no criticism here".  
  
"Who asked you?" He exclaimed. He shoved his tray aside and for the first time ever, dared to look someone directly in the eye. I have to admit that I was quite unnerved.  
  
"Hey, you shouldn't talk to a man of the cloth that way. He's just trying to help." Nelson said, putting a grip on Radar's right shoulder.  
  
"Having a stare down, Father?" Hawkeye asked as he too joined me at the table.  
  
"No. I was just holding a conversation that I shouldn't have held."  
  
"I'm afraid I don't get it, Father."  
  
"Radar is trying to intimidate me." I said. I had to have been wearing a rather weird expression because Hawkeye took one look at my face and began to roll with laughter.  
  
"Why was I stationed with this never-ending group of schmucks?" He mumbled, jerking his shoulder out of Nelson's grip. He got up and left the table, taking his tray along. I must have blushed because Sergeant Nelson began to chuckle.  
  
"I'm really sorry about that, Father." He apologized humbly. "He's just in a funk because Majors Burns and Houlihan got in his face for nil this morning."  
  
"I'll take care of the Majors." Hawkeye offered as he discarded the breakfast he never planned on eating anyway. "Thanks Sergeant. Oh, and between you and me, first names are standard procedure around here. I'm Hawkeye Pierce."  
  
"I'm Keith, but I go by my last name, Nelson." He smiled at Hawkeye. I was pleased to see his problem improving. I noticed the both of them gazing at a young woman as she walked by. She was quite gorgeous, and if it weren't for my sacred vow, I'd have been the first to approach. Her hair was spiral curled, blonde and streaked with bright Manic Panic© red. Major Margaret Houlihan was the most stunning, dramatic woman here (apart from the virgin Mary).  
  
I watched Hawkeye vigilantly as he approached Margaret and beamed one of his thousand watt smiles at her. I was rather jealous. Okay. I was really jealous, and I have never been more ashamed of abandoning, even for a second, the deep spiritual meaning of my role. I got up from the table, deciding I'd go back to my tent. I was beginning to get rather queasy and had no desire to suffer dry-heaves in this awful heat.  
  
There was an awkward silence in my tent; as usual nobody had come for confessions, thus, leaving me to my usual prayers-for-souls routine. I may sound unappreciative for the ones I am lucky to be entrusted with, but there are people dragging themselves around this compound acting like walking open wounds. People that have problems only spiritual guidance could make right.  
  
Enough about me. :-(  
  
I looked at my watch. It was eleven past one and there wouldn't be any wounded for the next three days. The fact that nobody wanted aforementioned spiritual guidance made my journey long and difficult, but I'm sure the creation was no bowl of cherries for God either.  
  
"Father? Oh, I hope I'm not interrupting you."  
  
I turned to see who it was, the voice not altogether familiar. I realized why when I saw that he had been fighting tears, and sanctuary was the only place he'd allow them.  
  
"Hello, Sergeant Nelson." I was rather shocked that he hadn't gone with Hawkeye to greet Major Houlihan, and then again, I didn't really know his nature yet, and it was rather ill-mannered of me to suppose he was like any of the other G.I.'s here. "You aren't interrupting me, my son. How may I help you?"  
  
"I got a letter today, from my father."  
  
"Oh, that's wonderful!" I said, hoping the tears were out of joy, knowing I was wrong.  
  
"No, Father. No." He sat down on the floor, pulling his knees up toward his chest and began rocking back and forth. "My mother... my mother was a saint.. you understand, don't you?"  
  
"Please, continue. Don't be sidetracked by anything you believe will confuse me. The lord has ways of clearing things up for me." Needless to say, I know what he feels.  
  
"She had been given word that I had been killed in combat. She knew I wasn't even in combat... the power of a few senselessly cruel words... she thought she had lost me, father." He began to sob, taking in breaths as he could with all the weight on his chest. I felt so terribly that there was nothing I could do to make it better.  
  
"She couldn't handle it. They held a service for me, she couldn't wait just one more day until my letter came in the mail. She hung herself, father."  
  
What could I have done but stand there? I stood like a totem pole, tall and with a really stupid look on my face. I was horrified, to be quite frank... Er... honest. He wants to hear words of comfort and all I can manage are squeaks and wheezes. I clutched (anxiously) at the crucifix around my neck and approached him.  
  
"What am I supposed to do, father? I don't know what I'm gonna do!!"  
  
"I'm sorry, my son. All you can do is be there for your father."  
  
"I don't know how long he is going to hold on... He's not as strong as he used to be..."  
  
I began to become frustrated with the entire state of affairs. There was nothing I could do for him, and yet I couldn't let him leave this tent without resolution for fear of him making the same reckless mistake. Damn this war. "You need to be as was the Lord in his times of hardship. Have faith in your father, support him and try to speak well of him and of the situation, and he will pull through for you. Just try and get some sleep, Nelson, and you will feel remarkably better in the morning. You have an entire life to live for."  
  
"I guess so." He sniffed.  
  
"Please, I'm begging. Don't let one hard blow knock you down for the count." I was satisfied in that this was the best I had ever done for this sort of situation. I placed a hand on his shoulder and prayed wordlessly for him, repeating the rosary, pleading to Mary for his absolution and guidance.  
  
"God bless you, Father." He said, the tears making his eyes twinkle like Christmas lights. Oh, Lord. I have no idea what I have gotten myself into...  
  
I made my way around camp, feeling sick over Keith's problem for the third day in a row. I should have been pleased that I dissuaded him from doing anything rash.  
  
"What's eatin at you, father?" A soft voice called to me. I turned to find just the sight for sore eyes.  
  
"Ah, Sonar. Just the person I've been needing to talk with." My smile must have been screwed on crooked because she knew right away that I wasn't my cheerful self.  
  
"Well, looks to me like you need to let something out really bad or that face you're making will stick."  
  
"Face?" I honestly didn't know. (Priests are supposed to be somewhat naïve, right?)  
  
"You're making a classic 'I just sat on a long-thorned cactus' face." She smiled at me. I needed to see a genuine smile. I haven't seen one since I last gave an unbroken toy to a Korean girl at the orphanage. She looked like a tiny little pixie... I digress. I felt nearly human when we finally arrived at the mess hall to chat. I always find myself there at the most inopportune moments, but what are moments in a war for but to be inopportune? "Now, talk, Johnny."  
  
She only called me Johnny when she wanted to pry a smile from me. It worked. "I can't be specific because this is a problem with one of my confessionals, but I can tell you that every time I think of it I get sick to my stomach."  
  
"Have you talked to your boss about it?" She asked, glancing up toward the clouds.  
  
"Over and over again, Sonar. I'm sure I'm just not listening hard enough. That has to be what it is. The Lord always speaks loud enough." There was one thing that I knew would make me feel a million times better. I know she wouldn't agree with it, beings as I would have to take my aggressions out on one of the other personnel. I needed a fisticuff. A knock-down, drag-out fight... but who would be a willing contender... well, maybe not willing, but a contender nonetheless...  
  
"I refuse to fight a priest!" Frank whined. "I wouldn't want to hurt a man of the cloth." He mistakenly added. To his dismay, his addition was followed by loud strings of guttural laughter from Pierce and McIntyre. I would have loved to watch Major Burns turn seven different shades of red. "You'll pay for this Pierce!"  
  
"How about we pay after Father Mulcahy beats the daylights out of you?" Trapper asked snottily.  
  
"You think that fighting Irish can beat me, hmm?" He asked, a malicious tone rising in his agitated voice. In unison, Trapper and Hawkeye bobbed their heads yes. Had they bobbed any harder, I'm afraid their heads would have rolled off their shoulders and across the camp. Needless to say, folks, Frank Burns accepted my challenge and began to 'train'. "I'll show you. I'll show both of you yammering twerps!"  
  
Let it be said that Frank Burns has deserved several beatings in his time here at the 4077th, but now he was actually preparing for one. I had great confidence in that he had no idea what he was preparing for. 


	2. Float Like A Butterfly, Sting Like A Bee

For the few moments that I had been thinking about the fight, I actually forgot about Nelson. Yes, I realize his problem is much more important than a fight I am going to win, however, a man can only take on so much. Despite the stereotypes I am labeled with, I happen to be one hundred percent human.  
  
"Are you ready, Father?" A much less testy Radar yawned as he lazily dragged my box of equipment into the mess tent-slash-boxing ring. I helped him slip into his gloves as I had the nagging urge to shake the dust off of my defense technique. I grabbed a hold of the pads and we began to move.  
  
"Okay, now no matter what inhibitions you may have about striking a priest, I want you to put them aside for a while and give me your best shots, okay, Radar?"  
  
"Wha--I dunno, sir." He bashfully dug his toe into the padded floor of the ring. I set down the pads for a moment and put a gentle hand on his shoulder.  
  
"If I am expected," I began in my most kind voice, "to beat the daylights out of Major Burns, I need to make sure I can duck his punches, you do understand, don't you, my son?"  
  
"Well yeah, but--..." he stammered. I sensed some effort not to giggle at the thought of a kindly priest punching out Major Burns. I myself am delighted at the thought.  
  
"But you're afraid you might hurt me?" He hung his head and smiled, playfully swinging at my shoulder.  
  
"That's it! Give me another!"  
  
"Okay... I'm not promising you anything, though."  
  
He swung like a natural champion. His blows were hard and direct, but he still hesitated enough for me to predict exactly what he was going to do. This wasn't going to be much help to me, as Major Burns is crazy and the norm is that crazy people are somewhat spontaneous.  
  
"Why don't we trade places for a while, hmm?" He helped me with my gloves, took the pads and watched patiently as I shook the knots out of my muscles.  
  
For the rest of the evening it went as such: I would strike, he would block, I would move, he would move. Pretty standard procedure sparring movements. I closed my eyes, yawned and stretched, then turned back around to see Radar curled up into the fetal position, sleeping soundly on Major Burns' death bed. It was about time to call it quits for the night.  
  
I dragged my stuff back into my room expecting to take communion, say prayers and go to sleep. I thought that as two of the three were done I was free and clear to go to bed and lay awake for about eight hours (maybe six if I got restless), but as things usually happen in this unit, my plans were foiled.  
  
I swore I heard a faint weeping, and I became more and more confident that it was just that as the sound came closer and closer. Into my tent and (embarrassingly so) my arms flew Sonar. Her green tear-filled eyes gleamed angrily as she moved away from me and sat on my bunk. She emitted sounds that were like those of a frustrated six year old.  
  
I approached her carefully and pushed a brown strand out of her eyes, concentrating only on how I was about to involve myself in the problem.  
  
"What on earth is wrong?" Is the only stupid thing that would dare come out of my mouth.  
  
"I didn't mean to!" She cried.  
  
"Mean to what, honey?"  
  
"I walked into the showers and he was just hanging there..."  
  
"Nelson?!"  
  
"I didn't mean to!!!" She wouldn't let go of me now. She was cowering there and it was all I could do to even get up off the floor where she rolled off the bunk in hysterics.  
  
"Just stay right here. Don't you dare move an inch, do you hear me?"  
  
All she managed was a nod. I didn't take the time to watch anything else as I ran toward the showers. I crossed myself quickly and opened the shower door with care to find Nelson lying on the floor, gasping for precious breath... 


	3. Rumble Young Man, Rumble

"You promised me." I said. However ill-fitting it may have sounded at that moment, it was completely accurate of the situation.  
  
"I didn't promise you jack, altar boy." He choked.  
  
I felt my face flame up, and before I knew what I was doing, I lifted him to his feet. "Now look here, Sergeant. The very last thing I want to do is to pull rank on you but I will! You are wasting something that God built with a purpose in mind! Don't you DARE waist his work! I hate to be so blunt, but you need to hear this. Your mother did a selfish thing."  
  
"She was in pain!" He cried in shock. With his hands wrapped around mine (the one that happened to be wrapped in his shirt collar) I could feel even more how he trembled.  
  
"I understand. I am in this war with every soldier, living and dead. I don't want you to think for one second that I don't know. I am sure she was a wonderful mother. I know she will be missed dearly, I know... but you need to hold on." I let him to his feet, unaware that he wasn't prepared to stand. His legs tried to give, and so, despite his objection, I helped him to the post-op.  
  
"What happened, Father?" McIntyre asked, genuinely concerned. I helped Nelson onto a cot and walked over to the Captain, whispering the diagnosis as it were. I chose to be respectful and reverent. Nelson deserved that much...  
  
"Llllllladiiiieees and Gentlemennnnn, people of all ages! Step right up to see the fight of the Millenniummmmmm." Okay, so Colonel Blake was kind of overdoing it. Why not let the man have his fun? "In the upper right corner, wearing Army-Issue olive drab boxers and a crucifix 'round his neck; Lieutenant Father Frrrrancis John Patrick 'Holllllyyyy Right Hooookkkk ' Mulcahyyyyyyyy!!!"  
  
I was very pleased to hear thunderous applause on my behalf. While I was being prepared by my ringside coach, Radar, I sat and thought of Sergeant Nelson. His spirit was shattered nearly beyond repair.  
  
"And in the lower left, wearing full standard uniform; Major Frank 'Ferret Face' Burnnnnnnssss!"  
  
"Hey!" He griped. The audience was torn between boos, hisses and laughter at the taboo nickname. I chuckled myself, I won't lie.  
  
"Sorry, I didn't write it." The Colonel replied through his laughter.  
  
"Just ignore them Frank." Margaret cajoled.  
  
Hawkeye was the moderator, Trapper the ring doctor. Hawkeye brought us into the middle of the ring. "Now, this is going to be a fair fight. No hitting below the belt, spitting, head butting or biting. Touch gloves."  
  
"Do I hafta?" Frank whined.  
  
"Just touch gloves, Frank." Hawkeye answered, annoyed.  
  
A pan from the kitchen was used as the starting bell, rung by Igor, of course.  
  
I danced toward Major Burns, his stance as follows: knees locked, hands and arms directly in front of his face, and so as any good boxer would, I made a body shot. One off the left side, one off the right, one directly in the middle. He stumbled backwards a bit, but was generally unfazed.  
  
"Get him, Frank!" Margaret called out. Major Burns moved his hands to flash Margaret a confident smile. I, on the other hand, swung for his nearly non- existent chin. To my surprise, as I was doing so, Klinger came in, escorting Sergeant Nelson to his seat. He smiled at me, and that, friends is when Major Burns took advantage. I couldn't tell you exactly what happened, only that I felt the mat pulling me down, but I fought it. I fought it with all my might, and just as I thought I had lost, I heard a voice from the crowd exclaim: "Don't let one punch take you down for the count father!!!" It was Nelson. Dear Sergeant Nelson.  
  
I pulled myself back up from the mat, seeing red. I had never been so angry at another man, and I decided, that being my one time, to use it to my benefit. I danced toward Major Burns, he ran in the opposite direction, feeling the seething heat radiate from my body.  
  
"I'll give you an open shot, Major." I said, dropping my arms, looking away. He accepted.  
  
Stupid man.  
  
I blocked his punch and gave him a strict combo. Right hook, left hook, uppercut, body shot. He was beginning to feel it, and so I repeated the same combo, but backwards. The Major gives direct attention to detail. I was forced to play with him and scramble things up a bit.  
  
Body shot, uppercut, left hook, right hook... And he's down for the count.  
  
"Five... Four... Three... Two... Annnnd the winner and still Champion by TKO is Lieutenant Father 'Holy Right Hook' Mulcahyyyyyyyy!" The crowd went wild.  
  
Though I wasn't feeling like myself from the surprisingly rock hard blow to the head, I needed to settle things with Sonar.  
  
"Captain McIntyre, I need to go and see someone. Am I alright to get up and walk around?"  
  
"You're ship shape... Frank on the other hand..."  
  
They carried Major Burns away on a stretcher, Major Houlihan trailing close behind. I felt bad that he couldn't walk out of the Mess tent... Maybe not that bad.  
  
I walked toward the Nurses tent and knocked lightly.  
  
"Who is it?" One of the nurses called out.  
  
"It's Father Mulcahy. May I have a word with Sonar please?" The door slowly opened to reveal Sonar. She was still in the state I left her in. Shock. "Should we take a walk?" I asked. She nodded and so I led. "I wanted you to know that Sergeant Nelson is all right."  
  
"Why did he do that to himself?" She asked, her eyes tearing.  
  
"Normally it is against religious precedent to reveal any details of any confession, however considering you walked into what it had to deal with I'll tell you. His mother got word from the Army that Sergeant Nelson had been killed in combat. She decided that she couldn't hang on and so she committed suicide."  
  
"Ohh... poor Nelson."  
  
"He's okay. Maybe not completely okay, but he's going to pull through. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to shower. Boxing is a great exertion."  
  
"Okay." Sonar replied gently. She went her way, I went mine.  
  
I showered, dressed in my fatigues, ate what I could hold down, and went back to my tent. All in all, it had been a full day. Dear Sister,  
  
I am pleased to write you with good news. I have taken care of what ailed me and all is right with the world.  
  
Your Loving Brother, Francis John Patrick "Holy Right Hook" Mulcahy  
  
P.S.: I won the boxing match. Remember when I wrote you about Frank Burns? Enclosed is a picture of the losing party... 


End file.
